


tales from the mind of a human

by lara_mccann



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AND THE SECOND ONE, Bottom!Stiles, Multi, This is my first work, Top!Derek, but pls do, i don't even know what im doing, i'm a terrible person for doing this to stiles, im sorry abt the first chapter, im sorry!!, please review and give constructive criticism!, pls be nice, this entire fanfiction is a guilty pleasure, u shouldn't indulge it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 02:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11637246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lara_mccann/pseuds/lara_mccann
Summary: stiles is a human among the supernatural, constantly overshadowed and overlooked, always second best. yet stiles, smart and resourceful, has more to offer than the pack recognises. with these one shots i seek to shed light on him,  the inner workings of his quickly moving mind and his relationships with those he interacts with.





	1. the breaking of stiles stilinski

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stiles stilinski is human. he can only take so much until he falls apart. here are the events that push him over the edge

stiles stilinski was always fidgeting, always on the move. his ADHD made it impossible for him to sit still. his mind was always racing a million miles a minute, and his body seemed to want to follow suit. he bounced his leg, cracked his knuckles and tapped every hard surface he came across. he distracted himself by talking, gesticulating, anything and everything to keep him going. because slowing down meant thinking. and that was dangerous for stiles, especially when he was alone with his thoughts. they had a tendency to deteriorate, to spiral further and further down a self hating, self destructive cycle that he found very hard to surface from.  
  
scott mccall, his best friend, who usually helps him through such panic attacks, is currently enamoured with a girl named allison argent. he spends a lot of time with her, so much that he begins neglecting stiles, inventing excuses to not show up to his house when stiles invites him. stiles begins to draw away, hurt by this rejection, and, in true stiles fashion, copes in a very unhealthy way.  
  
his father doesn't question it when stiles asks for money and his prescription to purchase more medication, doesn't say a word when stiles comes home with significantly more than usual, only ruffles his cropped hair and smiles a crooked grin that encourages communication.  
  
stiles begins taking more pills than in necessarily healthy. in school, he is almost always a little out of it, behaving just a tiny bit abnormally. but of course, scott doesn't notice. he notices when allison buys a new pair of earrings, identical to the ones she wore yesterday, because the new ones are shinier than the old, but not when his best friend comes into school with an orange pill bottle in his bag instead of a pencil case.  
  
with scott's complete obliviousness further damaging stiles's self esteem, and causing him to sink further and further into depression, he takes more pills. when this is no longer enough to fight the devouring fear of being forgotten in his heart, he turns to perhaps even more desperate measures.  
  
a razor, shiny and new, finds its way into stiles's hand. when he drags it across old scars that pattern the delicate skin on his wrists, he feels a sense of fleeting, temporary relief. his pain and his grades are the only things he can control in his life anymore. he uses amphetamines to stay up later and later, writing essays in feverish desperation, until eventually, he becomes afraid of falling asleep, for fear that when he wakes up, scott will no longer remember his name.  
  
his overuse of prescription drugs turns into a dependency that he can barely sustain. the only hint to his rapidly deteriorating mental state are the dark bags under his eyes, a relic of sleepless nights and a pillow wet with tears.  
  
the thing that finally broke stiles was when scott forgot his birthday. stiles hopes, prays that he will remember all through the day. he endures scott's raving about allison, and her hair and her eyes and her lips and her body and everything that makes her better, more worthy than stiles. although stiles has never formally met her, because scott had never thought of introducing them, he already despises her for taking away his best friend.  
  
stiles returns home that day with his heart empty and hollow. his brain is moving, moving, moving, constantly moving, fast and relentless and stiles can't take it any more. he screams into his pillow until his breath runs out and his lungs burn. he finds savage pleasure in feeling his lungs ache for air, so he screams until his throat is hoarse. he falls asleep with tears clinging to his eyelashes.  
  
when he wakes in the morning, he feels as though every emotion, every feeling has been scooped out of him, leaving him a shell, a mere shadow of his former self. when he finally drags his listless body out of bed and into the bathroom, he stares into the mirror.  
  
his bloodshot eyes are rimmed with red and circled with dark bags that look like bruises. his lips are chapped, his face wet with tears. his hair is a mess and his collarbones sharp enough to cut glass. too sharp.  
when was the last time stiles had eaten?  
he cannot remember. he continues staring at his reflection, judging and critiquing what he sees. as he methodically combs over every visible flaw, stiles's heart grows heavier and heavier in his chest.  
  
he attempts to turn his hopeless sorrow into rage, because then at least he would feel something, and anything is better than this awful numbness he feels now.  
  
he clenches his fist and trembles like a leaf, the tiled floor freezing his feet. he walks out of the bathroom and stumbles slightly, like an old man who can no longer remember the reason to continue living. he blindly opens the drawer of his desk, and removes all the orange bottles from it.   
he lines them up neatly on his desk, eyebrows furrowing as he nudges them into equal distance from each other, into a perfect straight line. he stands looking at those bottles for a long time.  
  
he is surprised when he feels wetness on his cheek, and reaches up to brush away the unbidden tears. he walks back into the bathroom and retrieves his meticulously cleaned razor from the sink. he breaks it with his bare hands, barely noticing the thin stream of blood bubbling up from the thin lines the razor had cut.  
  
when he returns with a single sharp blade in hand, he sinks onto the bed, twisting the shiny piece of metal in his fingers, turning it this way and that, letting it catch the light as it scrapes his fingertips and comes away bloody.   
stiles is almost in a trance as he removes his jumper and discards it on the floor beside him. it is as if some outside force is controlling him when he guides the blade to his skin, where old and new scars intermingle in a sickening dance. he slashes at his skin with an anger he didn't know he was emotionally capable of possessing. he chants a self hating mantra in his head as he paints his arm an addictive shade of red. 'worthless.forgotten' is repeated inside his head until it is all he can hear.  
  
he cuts and cuts, and doesn't stop until his arm is soaked in blood and he feels lightheaded. the razor blade slips from his fingers and falls to the ground and stiles moves towards the desk, where the bottles are lined up still. he stares for a moment at them.  
  
then, blindly, he picks up a bottle with trembling fingers. he uncaps it, throws his head back and swallows the pills dry. he is too desperate for release, for control, to bother with making the acquiring of these things easier for himself. he takes another bottle and repeats the process, tears blurring his vision. he empties the remaining bottles into his shaking hand and swallows them all.  
  
his twitching is more violent now, and his body desperate for more. he drops to his knees and begins to frantically search for any dropped pills on his bedroom floor. he is aware of how pathetic he must look, but that doesn't stop him from crying in pure relief whenever he discovers a stray pill on the ground.  
  
eventually his uncontrollable twitching, aching arm and deafening mind take priority over his hunt for medication. he lies on his bedroom floor, intending only to rest for a short while. when his vision begins to flicker, and turn black, he realises what he has done, what will now happen to him.  
  
stiles realises that he is going to die. but, strangely, he does not fear this.  
  
he almost wants to die, because death is like sleeping without ever waking up, and all he wants right now is the peace that comes with unconsciousness.  
  
his breath comes quicker now, loud and irregular in his empty room as he gasps and fights to draw breath.  
  
his life bleeds out of his arm and is wrested from his blood by the drugs as they claim their hold on his tired body. he is empty.  
  
he has nothing more left to give.  
  
stiles stilinski sighs, and the hand that is covered in blood flowing from the severed artery in his wrist finally ceases tapping.  
  
the room in which stiles had spent so many hours self destructing is finally still and totally silent as stiles breathes his last.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
scott finds him the next morning, his body cold and his left arm soaked in partially congealed blood.  
  
empty orange bottles litter the room. his eyes are glassy and unseeing and his face is stained with tears.  
  
scott screams. it is not the sound of a broken boy.  
  
it is the sound of a wild animal, the howl of a wolf losing a member of their pack.  
  
he screams and screams, and doesn't stop until the sheriff physically pulls him away from stiles's body, even as he himself sobs at the sight of his son, the last remnant of his beloved wife, dead on the floor.  
  
the only thing that offers any type of comfort is the small smile on stiles's face.  
  
both the sheriff and scott agree that stiles was an angel.  
  
an angel who was homesick.  
  
an angel, that, by the most tragic means possible, returned home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cried while writing that tbh.  
> reviews are welcome and appreciated :)


	2. pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> derek and stiles have a heated argument, but a gaze turns it into an encounter far more intimate, but no less heated.

derek and stiles glared at each other, throats hoarse from the argument they had been having only moments before. the very air surrounding them seemed electrified and filled with tension. both boys were frozen, locked in the intensity of each other's gazes, as their eyes softened from hatred to arousal. then, without warning, derek pounced. stiles squeaked in shock.  
~~~  
(stiles would like to add that he did not squeak, thank you very much, he merely... expressed his surprise by making a high pitched noise)  
(derek would like to add that he definitely squeaked & that it was adorable)  
(stiles would like to announce dereks tragic, unplanned death)  
~~~  
derek tackled stiles and pinned him to the wall, kissing him harshly to drown out his surprised protests. their tongues fought for dominance, and after a valiant battle, derek won. stiles rolled his eyes when derek made a little, "ha!" sound into their interlocked mouths. he was such a child. as if derek could read his mind, he started doing very unchildlike things with his tongue, in the hopes of stiles retracting the unspoken statement.  
stiles moaned as derek did something with his tongue that really should be illegal. they broke apart, panting.  
"what's brought this on?" asked stiles.  
"you always tease me, whether you realise it or not. those jeans, so tight that they leave nothing to the imagination," derek paused to squeeze stiles's pert ass through said jeans. "the way you run your hands through your hair," he paused again to give the aforementioned hair a hearty tug that left stiles breathless. "your entire being teases me, and i'm sick of it. i want you, now," whispered derek, and crushed his lips back onto those of an extremely shocked, but similarly gratified stiles. derek pushed his leg in between stiles's own, feeling his enthusiasm, and stiles moaned obscenely, before becoming visibly self-conscious at the noise, biting his kiss swollen lips.  
"no, baby, i like it. i like hearing you moan," gasped derek.  
and they returned to kissing, dereks hands sneaking back down to stiles's ass, caressing and squeezing it through his skinny jeans, groaning all the while.  
derek detached his lips from stiles's, who whined in protest. this quickly turned to a whimper as derek started suckling and biting stiles's neck.  
"thought you were a werewolf, and not a vampire," joked stiles breathlessly.  
derek rolled his eyes, and shoved stiles back onto the bed. he stripped off his shirt, and climbed on top of him. stiles immediately bucked his hips, and derek growled hungrily when he noticed his erection.  
"excited?"  
"very."  
another bruising kiss followed. derek ripped off stiles's t-shirt and started suckling on his nipple. stiles whimpered and arched his back, begging for more friction, which derek playfully denied by pushing his hips down onto the bed. stiles hissed in anger. derek only smirked.  
stiles whined impatiently, a high pitched keening sound that made derek suppress a giggle. a muttered spell from a slightly embarrassed stiles, and they were left only in boxers. derek, while shocked at this startling development, wasted no time in grinding his dick onto stiles's, which both boys mentally agreed was a fantastic idea. then, derek had a rather brilliant idea. he stripped off his underwear in one fluid movement and his hard, sizeable cock sprang free from his boxers. derek gave it a few rough strokes and growled, "get on your knees."  
stiles, getting the intended message, removed his own underwear and kneeled in front of derek. he started gently licking around the tip of dereks dick, who growled in aroused impatience. after a while of stiles indulging himself with teasing derek through only kissing gently and giving little kitten licks to his straining cock, he took pity on the moaning boy. he hollowed his cheeks, and, with suspicious expertise, deep throated dereks cock. he got so into it that he barely noticed when a stray finger, slick with lube, traced his asshole. he did notice the intrusion, however, and cried out in surprise.  
derek waited a moment, giving him time, then pushed in a second finger, scissoring them. when he figured that stiles was prepped enough, he removed his cock from stiles's skilled mouth, who whined at the removal of both his fingers and his dick.  
he hooked stiles's legs over his shoulders and positioned himself at his entrance.  
"ready?"  
stiles gasped, and moaned angrily, "if you don't put your dick in me right now i swear to god derek i'll-"  
derek never got to hear what stiles would do, because that was when he pushed inside and stiles was cut off in a moan, partly of pleasure and partly of pain at the noticeably bigger intrusion than dereks fingers. he nodded at derek when he stopped in mild concern, who then continued to push in until he was fully inside. he waited for him to adjust. when stiles nodded once more,  encouraged him with a mischievous wink and a smirk, he lost all semblance of control.  
he pulled all the way out and rammed back inside again, pounding into stiles with no sense of mercy. luckily, it seemed stiles had no problem at all with this arrangement.  
stiles could only manage incoherent groaning at this point, but it sounded pretty positive, so derek saw no reason to slow down. in fact, he sped up, setting a punishing pace that stiles was only too happy to oblige with, pushing his hips back to meet derek with every thrust. stiles arched his back and moaned unashamedly, reduced to babbling dereks name and cursing in several languages.  
derek felt heat pool in his stomach and realised he was close, so he started aiming to hit stiles's prostrate every time. stiles's eyes rolled back in his head and he gasped, "im, i'm gonna, i'm gonna come - derek!"  
derek grinned as stiles came with a shout, covering both their chests with white. stiles, taking revenge, clenched his ass around dereks dick, who also came, but far quieter. he slowly pulled out, cock leaking cum and smiled wickedly at stiles.  
"you're so loud, baby."  
"shut the hell up," retorted stiles grumpily, but unable to disguise his post-coital bliss.  
they both lay down in bed, stiles sighing with satisfied exhaustion. derek pulled him close, spooning him, and stiles fell asleep listening to the comforting rhythm of derek's heart, and his hot breath against his ear. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
next morning:

stiles woke up feeling sore, and grumpily swung his legs over the edge of the bed, intending to make himself some much needed coffee. or, he tried to.  
"bloody hell derek, did you have to be so rough? i can't even walk now!"  
"well, it's not my fault that last night you were begging for mor-"  
"SHUT THE HELL UP DEREK!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was so uncomfortable to write. my first time writing smut :/   
> i love sterek so much it's the best ship in teen wolf.   
> what are your otps?  
> reviews are welcome and appreciated :)


	3. comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a rather rough panic attack leaves stiles vulnerable and at the mercy of the lovely lydia martin. comfort and revelations ensue.

everyone knew that stiles stilinski had a hopeless infatuation with the lydia martin.  
everyone also knew that she never spared him a glance.  
at least, not until she happened to stumble upon stiles in an extremely vulnerable state...  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
stiles was shaking. he was shaking and he couldn't stop. his heart felt like it was caving inwards, devouring everything inside him and leaving him hollow and empty.  
his breathing sped up and became shallower. he couldn't breathe. he gasped, but no air came into his lungs.  
his vision blurred, due to tears or asphyxiation, he wasn't sure.  
he curled up into a tiny ball on the cold girls' bathroom floor and rocked forwards and backwards, trying desperately to calm his racing heart.  
he was sweating, his skin clammy, struggling for breath.  
he hadn't had a panic attack this bad since the direct aftermath of his mothers death. he dug his nails into his palm, hoping the pain would ground him, to no avail. his mind flashed and his chest constricted even further.  
just as he thought his day couldn't possibly get any worse, he heard a voice, that, in normal circumstances, he would have killed to hear address him.  
the angelic voice of lydia martin.  
"what the hell is happening to you?" he heard her cry.  
he tried to reply, but only managed a plaintive whimper that left his lungs on fire.  
"oh my god, are you having a panic attack?" he could hear the concern in her voice, and he felt a vague sense of surprise that she actually cared about his wellbeing.  
lydia crouched beside him and held his trembling hand.  
"shhh, shhh, it's okay, stiles, it's okay. breathe with me, stiles, breathe with me," she whispered.  
stiles was shocked that she even knew his name, let alone knew how to calm down someone deep inside a panic attack. but then again, he knew that lydia knew everything, no matter how stupid she pretended to be.  
he tried to breathe with lydia, he really did. but he was too far gone. lydia seemed to recognise this too, and for the first time stiles could remember, she sounded scared. really and truly scared.  
"stiles, please, breathe with me. stiles, breathe!" she cried, a note of panic in her voice.  
stiles gasped shallowly, which achieved nothing.  
through his blurred vision, he saw lydia's signature red hair, and reached out to touch it.  
he heard a soft intake of breath as he ran his trembling fingers through her silky locks. the feel of her hair on his fingertips grounded him somewhat, and he managed to breathe once, properly.  
lydia, observant as always, noticed this, and took ahold of both his hands.  
stiles jerked in shock when she placed them on her chest, not understanding why.  
then, he felt the fast beat of her heart under his hands. he felt the sensation of her warm skin on his ice cold palms.  
"focus on my heart, stiles. breathe with me."  
as her chest rose and fell, her heart slowed. this, in turn, calmed stiles down to the point where he could actually take air into his lungs, rather than gasping ineffectively.  
lydia sighed in relief.  
"keep breathing stiles, that's right, breathe with me."  
eventually, stiles calmed down fully. his heart slowed and his embarrassment raised its head.  
he removed his hands from lydia's chest, missing the feeling of her smooth skin almost immediately.  
he hesitantly looked up, only to be met with green eyes glassy with tears and shining with concern. lydia's eyes.  
"stiles, are you okay?" she asked softly, so close that stiles could feel her warm breath wafting over his lips.  
"yeah, thanks to you." replied stiles, his voice shaky.  
lydia smiled then, a brilliant smile that seemed to light up the space around them. she didn't move her position.  
stiles was hyperaware of their close proximity.  
her face was mere inches from him, with her hands still clutching his, their legs partially intertwined.  
he couldn't stop himself from glancing at lydia's lips, the usually perfectly applied lipstick smudged by repeated biting.  
in stiles's opinion, they weren't bitten enough. he'd happily finish the job for her, if she so wished.  
lydia was staring at him with confusion, as if only now she truly noticed him.  
"stiles..." she whispered, leaning infinitesimally closer until they were breathing the same air.  
"lydia..." he said quietly. he was close enough to count the minute freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose, close enough to count all of her perfectly curled eyelashes.  
stiles wasn't sure who closed the gap between them, him or lydia, but all he knew was that suddenly they were kissing.  
lydia's lips were softer than he ever could have imagined. they fitted perfectly against his, like they were made to slot against his. he reached a hand up to cup the back of her head and stroked her hair gently, passing it through his fingers and gripping it loosely.  
lydia pressed against him, her hands on his shoulders as she moved to sit on his lap.  
stiles let go of her hair in favour of supporting her perfect ass as she took control over the kiss in typical lydia fashion.  
she pushed him against the wall and initiated a dance with their tongues that stiles could only describe as sensual. he wondered absently if he should write a sonnet about this moment. perhaps shakespeare would appreciate it...  
they broke apart, panting slightly in the silent room. their eyes locked, brown meeting green in a heated gaze.  
then lydia kissed him again and stiles forgot everything, everything but the beautiful girl in his lap. he kissed her with an intensity he had never felt before in his life. he had dreamed about this moment, fantasised how it would feel. and it was better than anything he could ever have imagined.  
they separated once again, and stiles gasped out the question that had been burning in his lungs for a while now.  
"i thought you hated me."  
lydia smiled sadly, ruefully.  
"oh stiles. i never hated you. i was trying to convince myself that i wasn't attracted to you."  
stiles's mouth opened in shock.  
"you. attracted. to me?" he asked dumbly.  
"yes stiles. i think you're hot." lydia replied with a smile, rolling her pretty eyes.  
"well, in case you hadn't noticed, i think you're pretty beautiful yourself."  
stiles smirked mischievously when lydia laughed in pure shock at his audacity.  
"so, since we both feel mutual attraction to each other, maybe, we could, i don't know..." stiles stammered unsurely.  
lydia smirked at his obvious awkwardness.  
"yes stiles, i'll be your girlfriend." laughed lydia, putting him out of his misery.  
"wait really?"  
"yes, you idiot," lydia said, "i'd love to."  
and she leaned back down to kiss that self satisfied grin off of stiles's face.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
stiles and lydia held hands as they walked together through the corridors of beacon high, matching grins adorning both of their faces as they watched the entire student body gape at them in shock at this unexpected development.  
~~~  
(jackson whittemore was spotted violently kicking a wall on school grounds, and swearing colourfully before driving off in his ridiculously fancy car)  
~~~  
it's funny how, sometimes, the shittiest days can have the most beautiful outcomes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love this relationship almost as much as sterek, it's so cute!!  
> also only two more days till the last 10 episodes holy shit i'm not ready  
> reviews are welcome and appreciated :)


	4. giving thanks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> stiles's list of the things important to him, and what they do to save his life every single day.

stiles stilinski is thankful for many things in his life. 

1) his father, sheriff stilinski. stiles doesn't know how many times his father has held him as his body shook with sobs following another nightmare. he couldn't count the times his father, with a word, or a simple gesture, has turned a bad day into one worth facing. stiles can honestly say that his father has saved him on countless occasions. maybe not in the obvious way of him saving stiles's life, but in small, easily overlooked ways. he saved stiles's passion for learning from being drained away by exhaustion and grief after his mothers death. he saved stiles's confidence from being torn down by the bullies that called him worthless and unlovable. he is the best father stiles could wish for.

2) his best friend, scott mccall. while scott may not be the smartest of people, or the most observant, his kind heart, caring nature and inherent need to make everyone feel loved made stiles love him as one would a brother. scott has also saved stiles on many occasions. when stiles was standing on the edge of the hospital roof, staring down and seriously considering jumping, scott was there to hold him as he cried, to comfort him and chase away his demons. scott, with his unending optimism and complete trust in everyone, inspires stiles to fight to cling to life every single day, no matter how tired he gets of the battle. stiles could not imagine a better friend than scott.

3) all the photographs of his mother. stiles, although it makes him sad, loves to stare at the few photos he owns of his mother. it fills him with a confusing cocktail of grief and love. he wishes he could have had more time with her, but at the same time, he is scared that if she had lived, she would have grown to hate him. after all, what mother could be proud of a son like him? an anxiety ridden, depressed hyperactive mess of a boy that cried whenever someone mentioned his mothers name. he would have disappointed her. that is why he strives, every day, to make his mother proud of him. he wishes he could remember her more clearly. the older he gets, the more her face fades from memory. 

4) his life. stiles, although at times he hates it, and wants out of it so badly he could scream, is thankful for the life he has been given, and the opportunities that he has. he recognises the privilege he has by being blessed with intelligence, supportive friends and a loving father. his life gave him his father. his life gave him his friends. his life gave him his pack.  
and his pack is what he is truly most thankful for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was so fun to write!!  
> reviews are welcome and appreciated :)


	5. weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the pack don't see that stiles is so much more than just a human.

stiles is under no illusions. he knows that the pack considers him a liability. he does not blame them. after all, he is a mere human, fragile and breakable. in the packs eyes, he is weak and helpless. someone to be looked after. secretly, stiles fears the day they look at him and see a boy who is more trouble than he's worth. 

he's kept around for his brain. his clever, quick, analytical brain. but lydia rivals him in that department, and as she is also a banshee, capable of holding her own with ease, he fears she will soon replace him as the 'smart one' in the group. and then, what will be the use for him?

although he can barely admit it to himself, he misses the nogitsune. the feeling of power, the rush of euphoria that came with otherworldly strength. he misses it more than he can say. he misses the fear he inspired in the packs hearts, the realisation that he was a force to be reckoned with. 

when the nogitsune left, he was drained and worthless once more.

in some of his less proud moments, he almost wishes the nogitsune would return.

he lies at night, unable to sleep, remembering the nightmares that kept him awake as the nogitsune was forcing entry into his brain.

as masochistic as it sounds, he wants the nightmares and night terrors to return. he wants to jerk awake with the cruel whisper of "let me in, stiles," echoing in his head, turning his heart cold with dread. 

he would almost enjoy those things if it meant the return of the nogitsune, and with it the power it brought.

as the nogitsune, he made the decisions, and determined what was right and wrong. as the nogitsune, although it was quite the opposite, he felt in control, more so than when he was stiles stilinski. he longed for that to belong to him again.  
he wanted control. he wanted power.  
and he was willing to go to any lengths to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know if you'd like me to write a one shot about nogitsune stiles, and if you'd like me to incorporate a ship into it. :)


End file.
